


Tales from Titan

by bubblewrapstargirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Parents, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Theon Greyjoy, Breaking Up & Making Up, Detectives, M/M, Murder Mystery, Post-Mpreg, Top Robb Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-09 00:37:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14705816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: Robb Stark is the Chief Inspector of Sector 4, on Saturn's largest moon, Titan. When a visitor from a neighbouring planet is found dead, Robb doesn't have long to solve the crime, to prevent the incident from sparking an inter-planetary war.





	1. Chapter 1

When his sister answered the video call, Robb let out his previously stymied exhale.

The state of his younger sister was highly unpredictable. Most days her vacant stare was hollow enough to raise the fine hairs on the back of his neck, in a prehistoric reptilian response to fear. Despite the physical distance between them, her agony of grief reached out and caressed Robb through the glass of his communicator screen.

Sansa was not a woman to abandon her sorrows in fits of whimsy although on her best days she was prone to a kind of manic glee, that would propel her into spates of action. Those days were irregular and impossible to anticipate. Conventionally, her base state was one of intense melancholy, a grasping sorrow which clung to the senses and dragged all other emotion into it, like a sucking black hole. Robb often found himself breathing deeply in an attempt to catch his breath, after their submerging conversations had subsumed him.

Preparing for the inevitable engulfment, to be the shrimp swallowed by the whale, Robb cleared his rasping throat and greeted her. Sansa fixed him with milky blue eyes, the heavy shadows whispering tales of lost sleep and stressful waking dreams. His sister lived in a perpetual state of daydreaming, a consuming sleep she could not wake from. Robb’s empathy for her loss was a deep cavern of pity and compassion, but it was useless to her, from the other side of the flat, clinical screen of a communicator.

She would not leave her home, and no one was brave enough to visit it. Robb hid behind his job as excuse to prohibit the journey himself. Nothing was worth the risk, not even the sister that had once been his succour.

“Hello, love,” he hailed her warmly, “You’re looking well.”

It wasn’t an entire lie. Her long, unruly red hair, which fell in waves almost to her waist, was looking clean and less limp than usual. Lips like the slice of a fresh wound pursed into a flat, bloodless line. Pale eyes carved him open like a beast at the table.

“You drift from sorrow to sorrow, a carrion perching on the shoulders of death.” Her voice was a penal rasp.

It was only long, thankless years of facing down criminals and tyrants that prevented Robb from flinching.

“My work can seem aimless sometimes,” he conceded, with a calculated shrug, in an effort to seem affable. He suspected his efforts were in vain, and he appeared every inch as uncomfortable as he felt. But then there was no one present to judge.

Sansa had no one to tell.

“You will not find what you seek.” She proclaimed ominously.

Robb shivered. Catching hold of his bravery before it slipped from his shoulders entirely, Robb offered her a bright grin.

“We all lose things sometimes,” he conceded.

His sister offered him nothing but stony silence. Despairingly, Robb wondered where the nurturing, caring women who had helped raise their siblings when their parents died, had gone. Pheobe had sucked all the sympathy out of her.

“How’s Ned?” Robb asked, a final stab at fraternal duty.

For a brief moment a flicker of life, the feral passion that his sister kept shackled, burst behind her eyes. Then it was gone, clamped back down by the fractured fetters of her mind.

“The King rules with valiance and grace.” She imparted airily.

Robb gnashed his teeth together, biting back an unwise insult. Sansa rarely referred to her son by anything but his supposed title, the demanding whelp as cold and distant as all of his race. Robb knew the child would feel the sting of his palm, were their paths ever to cross. His nephew’s ears rejoiced that they never had, and it seemed that they would never redden at Robb’s touch.

“I’m glad all is well,” Robb offered his hollow platitude in lieu of a satisfactory way to end the conversation.

Before Robb could bid a hasty goodbye, his hand already raised to give an artificial wave, Sansa threw herself toward her communicator screen, her hands clutching at the frame as though she desired to launch herself through it.

Robb flinched, starting toward Sansa as though he could reach out and cradle her.

“Robb,” she murmured, eyes bright with lunatic fervour, “Beware the rising moon.”

Robb’s mouth dropped clean open. Her words, though cryptic as usual, had contained a level of awareness, that had not heard in years. Before he could question her pronouncement, she cut their communication, the screen immediately going devastatingly black.

Before the logo even began to shimmer and shine jauntily, he tried to call her back. After two attempts to regain the connection, Robb conceded it was pointless. They rarely talked more than once a quarter; she would not come back to explain herself. Instead, he threw up the last screen of their automatically recorded interaction. Her frozen face told of conscious terror, real cognizance for the first time in perhaps a decade. What kind of nightmare had spoken to her of his imminent doom?

Unable to help himself, Robb opened his data pad: a phone, GPS tracker, criminal database and computer in one. Before he convinced himself he was acting foolishly, he sent a message to his brother, inviting him to dinner tomorrow. Their work generally kept them at opposite ends of the city. Robb’s jurisdiction ended to the far west of Jon’s semi-permanent base. He debated with himself a moment longer, before copying the text and sending it to their youngest sister, who Robb lived closer to, but saw less. Now that Arya was old enough to be accepted into the Academy, she had far more freedom to go about as she pleased.

Jon replied immediately, betraying that he was on duty at the city wall, a mind-numbing endurance of staring out at dusty orange earth and hoping that a sand dune might move, to provide a modicum of entertainment. Jon suggested his own seldom-used apartment for tomorrow's dinner, a halfway point between the villages Robb protected, and the depths of the inner city.

Without another excuse to delay time, Robb pulled on his stiff jacket and collected his helmet from its lonely perch on a side table whose only function was to display it. Cramming the black helmet on was a familiar ritual, and as he pulled down the visor Robb felt as though he had already left the climate-controlled contours of his one-floor apartment.

As always it was a joy to swing his leg over his bike, and settle himself against the moulded leather seat. She purred when he turned the ignition, an outdated form of engine engagement, but a satisfying sensation. She roared to life at his touch. Then there was nothing but the howl of the wind and the endless orange clouds as the grey dust of the desert was eaten up.

***

Robb arrived to work early and saw none of his team, as he rinsed the sand from his leathers and hung them in his anteroom. Most officers had lockers in a shared shower room, but rank granted Robb a private bathroom of his own. It was more of a cupboard than a room, with just enough space for a shower unit, toilet, sink and a short rack for clothes.

Tugging on his smart work trousers, Robb was still threading the loop of his belt as he stalked into his office. His desk was spotless, save for a mountain of paperwork in his ‘out’ tray. The ‘in’ section contained nothing but one measly station newsletter, which was appraised for less than a minute before it was threaded into the shredder. Robb was tempted to dump the whole stack from his paperwork mountain in there, but considered the expression on his boss’ face if he were to be caught doing so, and resisted the urge.

As he sat at his desk and dragged the whole mess toward himself, he considered which underling had pissed him off recently, enough to warrant the task of wading in this paperwork.

He completed two order forms, one for their yearly oxygen tanks, and another for new riot shields, before he began to lose the will to live. By then, the team had arrived, and were milling around aimlessly, attempting to look like they had work to do. A notification popped up on his data pad, and Robb poked at it, eager to be given a task, any task, to distract himself with. It was an order from above, to send one of his officers to give a presentation at the nearby school, about the dangers of illegal substance abuse. Robb weighed the misery of dealing with pimple faced savages against his ocean of paperwork. The paperwork won, but just barely.

“Payne!” Robb called, starting the bull-pit as he entered the shared office, “Get your coat on, I’ve got a job for you.”

Payne shuffled over, his usual look of soft agreement neatly settled on his handsome freckled face.

“Sir?”

Payne’s voice carried a hundred questions, in a manner only possible when two people have worked together for over a decade, and knew each other’s patterns inside and out.

Robb could tell from ‘sir’ alone that Payne was in a good mood, ready for anything, eager in fact, to be out of the office. He’d be disappointed by the community outreach task. Not a job for an officer. But then he would rally quickly, knowing they had no active cases, and therefore there was nothing better to do.

This small time PR work was for uniform, but then no one in uniform seemed to know what the hell they were talking about, most of the time. Payne was Robb’s most trusted officer, and more than that, a friend. He didn’t deserve to be cooped up in the office, not when he could be out sharing his relentless optimism with a bunch of ungrateful miscreants. They might just sit up and listen when a man like Payne spoke to them. There was something about his manner that was uncomfortably sincere.

Robb outlined the task at hand, and it went exactly as he had predicted; Payne’s face fell, before he realised he could impart wisdom to the youth of tomorrow, and he was off, muttering about powerpoint presentations he had saved from previous campaigns. Robb left him to it, grateful that someone reliable shared his workspace.

Then he returned to his office, and the desk with its screeching paperwork demanding to be attended to.

***

It was lunchtime before he resurfaced from the work. Less than half of it was done, but Robb felt like he had put in a valiant effort, and in order to reward himself, set out to a local pub, where they served large helpings of tuna, cheese and salad on a baguette, drenched in salad cream with lashings of mango chutney and a pile of cherry tomatoes.

On his return to the office he picked up the entire ‘in’ tray, and dumped it on the desk of his only female officer, Mormont. She was a fiend for paperwork, could speak three languages and type fluidly in them all, with secretarial qualifications that made her the fastest, most efficient report-writer in the station. She arched a thinly plucked eyebrow when she came across Robb offloading his responsibilities onto her.

“I am not your secretary,” she said firmly.

“Mormont, don’t mess with me,” Robb pleaded, “I know you relish this shit.”

She grinned at him, not ashamed to have been caught trying to pull a fast one.

“Just pulling your leg, sir.” She grinned. “I’ve been shopping for flowers all morning. I never want to see another leaf again.”

Robb couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at her for wasting work time on planning her wedding, if she would save him from repetitive strain injury. She plonked down in her chair and snatched up the first form with one hand, whilst the other reached for a pen from the multicoloured selection in her desk tidy. Using her teeth to tear off the lid, Mormont was a tribal warrior, about to go into battle. Robb backed away from her, mildly terrified.

He retired to his office, to scroll through his messages. Not a single call had been sent through to his office all day. After almost an hour of replying to memos and mentally re-enacting a trial he had attended a few days prior, he gave up and decided to leave early.

The team bid him muted farewells as he changed into his road gear, and collected his helmet. He drove for less than a half hour before he reached the underground sports facility. It had a pool and a rink, and the latter was Robb’s destination. The stands were deserted; he was far too early but he whiled away the time once he’d picked a good spot, by reading a book on his data pad. He was soon absorbed in the narrative, and didn’t notice as the stands began to fill with people. Not until the jostling of bodies and the muttering of hundreds began to irritate him.

“You came!” A familiar voice caught Robb’s attention, and he looked to his left to see Theon on the aisle steps, Rickon balanced on his hip. They made their way toward him, Theon’s gait uneven due to the five year old weighing him down on one side.

“He knew you would.” Theon beamed, “He worries sometimes, that your work will get in the way. I know he doesn’t say it, but it means a lot to him, that you come when you can.”

Robb offered him a silent smile. Equally wordless, Rickon held out two gangly baby arms to him, a supplication. Robb responded automatically, lifting him up to place on his lap. Theon sat beside him breezily, an easy twinkle of cheer in his eye. Theon was seldom without a smile.

It wasn’t long before the players skated out onto the ice, their long sticks held in tight fists, ready for blood. For such young kids, they were angry little buggers, overly-competitive and barbaric with it. Robb had seen one of Bran’s teammates bite a rival team member, more than once. It wasn’t his job to deal with it, thank the gods, and he felt sorry for the poor volunteer ref that did.

Robb spotted Bran skating out by the rival team’s goal, practising his manoeuvres as he swayed forward and back, confident on the slippery surface. He and Theon waved madly when Bran’s face was turned in their direction, like every other proud parent crammed into the room. Rickon elbowed him in the chin, squirming to get a better look at his big brother. Obligingly, Robb lifted his boy up onto his shoulders for a few minutes, so that Rickon could get a good view, above the adults crammed into the row in front.

Out on the ice, Bran raised the hand not holding his hockey stick up in their direction, to signal that he had seen them. Behind him, the rival team fanned out onto the rink. Theon caught one of Rickon’s flailing hands to press a kiss to it, affectionate in his joy. It was the simple pleasures that mattered most, Robb thought, his heart feeling like it was shrivelling in his chest, squeezed several sizes too small. You didn’t realise how much you loved your life, until you were living in a one-bedroomed apartment, and only saw your kids on evenings and Dark days.

For a wild moment, Robb considered throwing himself on the grotty floor of the rink stands, and begging Theon to take him back. Then the ref signalled the beginning of the game, and the moment of madness slipped away. Their boy began to move, supple and smooth. Bran was utterly confident as he glided through the ranks of his enemies, and evaded their control. Robb thought of Sansa on her barren, lifeless rock, floating in the darkness without an atmosphere, and wished that his own demons were as easily avoided.


	2. Chapter 2

Robb pressed a kiss to Bran’s forehead. Rickon was already sound asleep in the bed at the other edge of the room. He’d been steadily snoring only halfway through the bedtime story. But Bran was less easy to placate. He stared up at Robb with eyes that were too wary and knowing for his young age. Their separation had been worse on him. Bran was old enough to understand what the implications were, whereas Rickon was just cross that Robb didn’t come home in the daylight anymore.

They’d shared dinner together at the trendy new restaurant, hotel and nightclub that had recently opened after the old hotel had been refurbished, following a dust storm. It had been just like old times, the two men wrangling their boys into eating their vegetables and congratulating Bran on his goal, and the team’s win.

Rickon had smeared pasta all over his face, hands and hair, as well as the table, whereas Bran had spilt his drink on the tablecloth. Theon had laughed them both, while Robb had clucked over the mess. They’d let the boys get ice cream, a rare treat, and stolled back to the car in the constant bright light.

The only disquieting moment of the evening had been the barman, who’d eyed Robb with the squirrely distaste of an ex-convict. It was easy to spot the type after years on the job; the unconscious lean back, the surly look of uncooperation. Robb itched to invent a reason to question the broad-shouldered, blue-eyed man, just to see what confessions came tumbling out. There was no doubt in Robb’s mind that he was involved in something shady, and had been cornered by the law before.

But he was with his sons, the four of them spending time together as a family, and that was too precious to waste chasing down potential criminals, on the basis of discomfort around law enforcement. Let the man be leery. If he wasn’t caught up in something illegal, merely considering it, perhaps now he’d think twice.

Before Robb could get lost in his thoughts, Theon appeared in the doorway behind them, leaning against the wooden frame. A fond smile danced on his lips. He blew Bran a kiss, before drawing his thumb down the wall to activate the ceiling. It changed from the view of a dark evening twilight sky, the kind found on any planet save Titan, to the vast galaxy of stars they called home. Robb made to stand up, but Bran caught his wrist, small fingers like tiny little rubber bands, so easily flexed.

“Wait. Will you point out home? And Earth.”

Recognising the bedtime avoidance technique didn’t stop Robb from giving in to it. He offered Bran an amused smile, to let him know that Robb wasn’t fooled, before sliding off the bed to focus on the detailed map of the outer-atmo sky. On-planet, you could never escape the endless haze of dark orange clouds, so stars like this were never visible.

On Titan, Saturn took up two-thirds of the sky all the sunlight hours, and of the course the sun itself shined from over its shoulder, a tiny spec in the distance. Sometimes, if the orbits aligned right, and you had access to an outer-atmo telescope feed, you could see Rhea and Iapetus. Generally, the orange smog was too thick for the naked eye to catch them. At twilight, the light was too bright to see anything; a rare distortion caused by more photons shining beneath the thick soupy atmosphere of Titan, due to the angle of the planet. In the darkness, Hyperion was visible, but that was a useless empty rock that held nothing but a radio transmitter station.

It took almost 382 hours and 41 minutes for a single day to pass on Titan, the equivalent of almost 16 Earth days, being just one hour and 19 minutes shy. Humans could not survive on a sleep cycle in keeping with the planet’s natural rhythms. So they kept to their natural 24 hour rotations, referring to a day using Earth’s clock. Which is why buildings on Titan kept glass to a minimum, and all glass that was installed was usually capable of being rendered entirely opaque, to keep out the powerful twilight.

Titan effectively lasted on a pattern of six dimly-lit high sun days, two days of horridly burning twilight, six more days of almost total darkness, and two days of bright sun-rise. While 382 hours were technically one day on Titan, on-planet, one of these light cycles was referred to as a week, roughly 16 days in total. The endless night period, known simply as the Dark, was lit by high-voltage electric spotlights, but the power required to light up half the planet at a time was too environmentally unsustainable.

Humans had fucked up the earth by being wasteful with their resources and powering too much equipment at once. Instead of lighting the Dark enough for people to go about as though it were daylight, citizens of Titan that did none-essential jobs remained at home, working remotely or focusing on side projects. Children participated in internet classes, but spent most of the time interacting with their families. Since their separation, Robb relished Dark days, because Theon let him sleep in the annex flat that connected to the main house via a side door. Titan became a ghost planet during the Dark, but Robb got to spend six gloriously uninterrupted days with his boys.

So although they referred to it as evening, they were in fact enjoying the second day of dim sunlight, on the heels of two bright sun-rise days. And already Robb had spent hours more than usual with his sons. At Bran’s request, Robb located Saturn, the distinctive rings making it an easy target, and pressed his finger to the touch screen covering the entire ceiling, touching the largest moon. Obediently, the screen zoomed in, the word ‘Titan’ and their population number popped up on the ceiling.

“Here we are,” said Robb, before gliding across the floor to a misshapen white moon, “And here’s Pheobe, where Aunt Sansa lives.”

Robb double tapped the ceiling again, and it zoomed back out to its standard setting. He took a single large pace back, so that Uranus and its moons were directly overhead.

“That’s Mama’s home planet, Oberon,” said Robb, pointing to the moon in question, but not selecting it this time.

He crossed the room again in confident strides, to the place they all hailed as their ancestral home planet.

“And this is Earth, where Grandad Ned and Grandma Catelyn flew away from, long before you were around,” Robb finished obediently, “Their farm was dying. All the water was drying up. So we packed our bags and sold everything else and off we went.”

Robb’s index finger hovered just below the planet, an actual planet this time and not just a moon, as it rotated slowly above them. He was careful not to touch it. He had no wish to know the population number.

“Earth’s where you and Uncle Jon were born, right Dad?” Bran piped up, a gleam in his eye. Eager to hear the story again, though he must have listened to it a hundred times.

“That’s right,” said Robb, “We left when I was younger than you are now. We were going all the way to Neptune, but our ship suffered damage in a meteor storm inside Saturn’s rings. So we had to land on Titan instead, and we all liked it so much here, that we decided to stay.”

Land was a generous term for the harrowing crash-landing they’d endured. Right into the centre of Titan’s Grey Waste, its largest desert. Robb pushed back his memories with the quick force of one long used to it. Jon had buried his mother in that desert.

“And that’s where you met Mama, on the broken ship.”

“That’s right,” Robb confirmed, remembering Theon as he had been then, a scrawny orphan in their refugee camp, with a split lip and sand in his hair. Theon’s father, sister and brothers all died in the crash, and his mother might as well have. She’d been driven utterly mad from the loss of her children, and never recovered from the blow.

“We took a ship from Earth to Ganymede, one of Jupiter’s biggest moons,” Robb said, arcing his arm across the star-scattered sky to follow their trajectory, “Then we changed ships. Mama and his family had been on Ganymede, and they were going back to Oberon.”

“But instead you stayed on Titan, fell in love with Dad, and had Rickon and me and lived happily ever after?” Bran demanded almost defiantly, a single note of question rising in his final words.

“That’s right, sweetling,” Theon confirmed, with a sad smile that did not meet his watery blue-green eyes. “We all lived happily ever after.”

Robb shot him a sharp, suspicious look through narrowed eyes. They’d agreed not to lie to the children. They were straightforward, frank people, at least when they could be. Not everything was appropriate for a child’s ears, but they’d been honest with Bran when they discussed Robb moving out. There was no reason to suspect he’d be coming back any time soon, and no reason to give the boys false hopes. Unless…

Robb followed Theon out of the room after they both bid Bran goodnight once more, waiting until his eyes fluttered shut in sweet sleep. Robb pressed his luck, sliding his hand down the small of Theon’s back, testing the waters. Theon allowed it, throwing Robb a look over his shoulder that he couldn’t translate. Was it eager, hopeful? Or wary, cautious?

When the corridor opened out into the open-plan living, dining, kitchen area they’d designed together, Theon stopped abruptly, and Robb grabbed hold of his soft hips, a reflex to stop from barrelling into him. Theon hissed at his tight grip, but that only made Robb cling on harder, squeezing mercilessly to revel in his whimpers.

“Fuck, Robb,” Theon hissed, turning his head to look back at him, and that was all Robb needed to eliminate the remaining space, leaning down to steal a savage, biting kiss.

Theon moaned into his mouth, reaching up his hands to tangle into Robb’s curly mop of hair, sucking onto his tongue as they latched onto one another like limpets to rock. Robb was torn between spinning Theon around to hike him into the air to carry him to the bedroom they once shared, or pressing him down to the carpet to fuck him right there.

In the end he did neither; Theon squirmed and whimpered in his hold, struggling to free himself from his shirt. Their clothes swiftly made a haphazard heap across the living room floor, before Robb slammed Theon against a wall, leaning his forehead against the curve of Theon’s shoulder and the dip of his spine, as he fucked into his tight heat. Shuddering in agony at the burning pleasure of it, Robb bit back his moans, thrusting savagely as Theon spurred him on, begging for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are super helpful and much pleaded for :) xx


	3. Chapter 3

The incessant chime of his data pad disturbed Robb in the early hours of the morning. Robb reached out a hand to silence it, batting it across the bedside table that used to be his, with easy familiarity. The automatic light, fixed just above where his hand was settled over his data pad, shone with a low glow, to make sure he didn’t fall back to sleep.

Robb sat up sluggishly. For several sleep-fogged minutes, as he read the message giving him directions to the crime scene, he forgot what was wrong with this picture. Then Robb abruptly remembered that he didn’t live in here anymore, and cursed the gods. He was about to do a walk of shame to a crime scene, with all his subordinates there to witness it. Or else he’d have to go out of his way to go home and get changed. Theon was too slim and slight for there to be any possibility of borrowing at least a shirt. 

Behind him, Theon stirred, and slid a sleep-warmed hand down his bare back.

“You’ve some clothes in the annex,” Theon reminded him, mumbling around a yawn.

Robb immediately felt like a dunce, for forgetting that fact himself. He slid out of bed and pulled on his underwear, not wanting to walk the halls entirely in the buff. Theon watched him with hooded eyes, the contours of his body rippling in a long sensual line beneath the thin sheet. The duvet was in a heap on the floor. 

Robb wanted to slide back into the bed and between Theon’s thighs, covering him with his weight, tug roughly on his hair to expose his neck, and litter it with possessive bites. He wanted Theon to moan and hiss in pain as sharp teeth worked him over, when Robb fucked into him, hard and brutal. But there wasn’t time. And Robb doubted Theon would let him back into his bed any time soon, once he left today. 

This was a moment of madness, and Robb wasn’t naive enough to assume it meant they were getting back together. It was a one-night thing, and Robb had no doubt that if work hadn’t intervened Theon would have, and kicked him out, long before the boys had to get up for school. He wouldn’t want to confuse them, and Robb didn’t want to either. It wouldn’t be right, to mess with their emotions like that.

Robb considered the distance to the annex, and the smouldering look Theon was still giving him.

“Shower?” Robb asked, an obvious invitation, grinning wolfishly when Theon smirked back.

Grey Wind, Robb’s aging canine companion and actual wolf, opened one golden eye and huffed in annoyance, as they stepped over him to enter the en suite. He had long retired from police work, far too old to take down a suspect. But you wouldn’t know it from the way Grey Wind treated unfamiliar guests that came anywhere near Bran and Rickon.

Robb was going to be noticeably late to the crime scene, and he could tell Grey Wind was judging him for it. For the longest time, late night summons meant work for them both, man and beast. 

But when Robb slid his way into the familiar, tight and grasping heat of Theon’s body as water beat down on them, he found he truly didn’t care. The dead could wait.

***

The crime scene was a bloody one. In the penthouse suite of an exclusive hotel, not so very far from the restaurant where he’d taken Theon and the kids for dinner the night before.

“Long night, sir?” Dacey Mormont sidled up to him, as soon as Robb alighted from the elevator.

Robb, now with his Chief Inspector face on, sent her a withering look, designed to make the cheeky smile slide off her face. She cleared her throat nervously, suddenly appropriately solemn.

Robb eyed the tastefully decorated, white and yellow room, and the uninvited art that had been splattered across it: bright red splashes of blood, arcing across the walls, up and across the chaise lounge sofa, the plush carpets, rug and elegant end tables. There was blood everywhere. Even in his protective covering gear, worn to prevent contamination of the crime scene, Robb was leery of stepping into the room and disturbing something vital.

Gilly Craster, the Sector 4 pathologist, was kneeling over the body, carefully extracting a fibre from the mushy remains of the dead man’s head. Robb grimaced, his whole face contorting with the downward curl of his lips.

She rolled the body, evidently done with photographing the scene. There was a sharp intake of breath as the none-battered side of the face, which had been pressed against the hardwood floor, was revealed.

Mormont let out a string of expletives, whilst Payne bristled nervously at her side. Robb felt the stirrings of a pounding headache begin behind the sockets of his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to stem it.

“Tell me that's not the fucking Neptunian Ambassador,” said Robb, a whining edge to his voice that sounded frightfully like Rickon.

“No such luck, Stark,” came the cold, humourless voice of his boss, a man who seemed to be perpetually gritting his teeth.

“Comerand Baratheon,” Robb nodded stiffly, “I understand you knew the victim personally.”

“An uncompromising man.”

Coming from Stannis Baratheon, that was mostly likely a high compliment. The Comerand stood stiffly at parade rest, his uniform hat tucked neatly under one arm. Despite the hour, his buttons were polished to a high shine, the golden braided ropes hanging in neat loops from collar to shoulder, the tassels lining up in a shimmering row. All the fabric was starched straight and creaseless, a comical contrast to the heavy frown of the Comerand’s forehead.

Stannis Baratheon jerked his head in a firm command, turning away from the shocking scene in disgust. Robb gingerly picked his was across the room, to the far corridor where the Comerand stood bathed in shadow.

“This needs to be a quick and discrete one, Stark. I want only your best working on this,” he said stiffly.

“Sir,” Robb replied in tone of acquiesce, silently railing against the idea that any of his men weren't considered good enough to work this case.

“Tywin Lannister was a well-respected man, and very wealthy. He made enemies and inspired envy. I do not think you will have look far.” said Comerand Baratheon with a sniff of disdain. 

Robb heard the phrase ‘well-respected’ and understood it to mean ‘feared’. The Lannisters were a dynasty loathed across the galaxy.

“Titan cannot afford the scandal this with no doubt cause. We must be seen to impart swift, accurate justice upon the perpetrator.” Comerand Baratheon ground out through gnashing teeth. “The Saturn Federation of Moons do not have anywhere near the military capacity to take on the Kingdom of Neptune. They will absolutely take this as an act of aggression toward their sovereign planet, if we cannot produce the culprit. Be quick, be quiet, and catch me a killer, Stark.”

With that parting decree, Stannis Baratheon crammed his hat on and turned to march stiffly away. Robb resisted the very sudden and powerful urge to put his fist through a wall. He hated cases like this more than any other; men with connections closing ranks to hide their filthy secrets. Political games that must be adhered to in order to ask the right questions to the correct people. It was one long pain in Robb’s arse.

He stalked back toward the crime scene of butchery before he could get lost in seething rage.

“Payne,” Robb barked, returning to his team, “Witnesses, suspects?”

“Not many, sir. This floor is only accessible via the private lift. Everyone staying here with the ambassador was family or linked to the household.” Here Payne flicked open his data pad and read what he'd scrawled in electronic pen. “There's two of his three children. The eldest: Cersei Lannister, the Princess of Neptune. And the youngest, Tyrion, a party boy. Then there's the staff: Bronn Blackwater, a bodyguard type, and Shae Lorath, a secretary.”

“Anyone else with access?”

“The concierge and the owner-manager of the hotel, Olyvar Tyrell and Petyr Baelish, respectively. Both have override codes but claim not to have used them until we got here and needed access.”

Robb scrubbed his bearded cheek with one gloved hand. 

“Who found the body?”

“Tyrion Lannister. He claims to have been coming back from some party or other, drunk as hell. He tripped over his father’s body in the dark, so he claims. That’s why there’s blood on his hands and shirt.” Payne recounted faithfully.

Robb nodded, absorbing the information wordlessly. It was his way not to comment on much, during the initial stages of an investigation. Not until he had his thoughts in order.

“And the others?”

“The Princess was sleeping.”

At Robb’s incredulous look, Podrick Payne smiled, a little sheepishly.

“I thought it unlikely, sir. The noise all this would have made- she all but accused me of high treason against the Federation, for questioning a dignitary of Neptune.” Payne blushed and Robb briefly wondered if there was any man less likely of committing oxygen sabotage, the only treason that really counted.

“The Princess claims to take sleeping drops. One in each eye and she doesn't wake for eight hours. We had a hell of a time getting her up, sir. Gilly had to give her a shot of adrenaline.”

“Seven hells,” Robb swore, “Fine, and the others?”

“Blackwater was asleep as well, apparently. And Ms. Lorath claims she was on a conference call. First she knew about anything was the yelling, when Tyrion Lannister started hammering on Blackwater’s door.”

Four suspects. Two children of a notoriously black-hearted tyrant. Inheritance was the obvious motive there, especially if Lannister had made any noise about amending his will.

Then there was Blackwater, likely to be ex-military if he was the bodyguard of such a man. What secrets was he privy to? Was he the type who might resort to blackmail, if the juice was worth the squeeze?

And Shae Lorath... She was the outlier. What the hell did a man like Tywin Lannister need a personal secretary for? A work secretary, sure. Someone to field his calls and collect his coffee. But a live-in servant? Something about that seemed out of character for a political kingmaker like Lannister.

“Well,” Robb sighed, “and now it begins.”


	4. Chapter 4

The suspects were gathered on the balcony, seated in a little cluster fussed over by Petyr Baelish, the hotel owner, a weasley little man with eyes that were too small for his face. All aside from the Princess, who was lounging back in her chair in an elegant, thick, unrefined silk robe. Robb wasn’t fooled by her overly calm repose; he saw how her fingers were clenched liked talons into the arms of her chair.

Before Robb stepped over the threshold and into their awareness, he momentarily pondered the stupidity of a balcony on Titan. There was nothing to see, but an infinity of soupy burnt-orange smog, and shiny opaque faces of the city buildings which occasionally swam into view. And of course, it was actually more of a conservatory, four walls and a ceiling of transparent glass and a sliding door for access, since there wasn’t enough oxygen pumped into the atmosphere to make sitting in the open bearable. Robb sincerely hoped the glass was capable of being rendered dark for the two days of twilight. Otherwise it was an obscene waste of money.

Mentally preparing himself for the kind of people who demanded a view even when there wasn’t one, Robb stepped on the balcony. Glittering wet eyes from recently weeping people peered out at him from pale faces.

“Finally,” huffed the Princess, “Are we expected to sit outside all morning, officer? Have you caught him yet?”

“Him, your highness?” Robb asked politely, immediately recalling that the Princess could not be suggesting she had seen the killer, if she was sticking to her sleeping drops story.

“The intruder, of course,” Cersei Lannister glared at him as though he were a simpleton. “Surely even on a moon, you are capable of programming security cameras, officer? Even if half of this dusty rock goes into _hibernation_ every few days for no reason.”

Robb felt his teeth and fists ache from the need to clench them, but he resisted the urge. Planetos were all the same. Uranians, Neptunians, even Plutonians, who lived on a freezing rock in the middle of fucking nowhere. All of them acted as if their living on a terraformed planet gave them status above moon-dwellers. As if there was anywhere nicer than Titan to live in this star quadrant. Neptune might be big, but their resources weren’t half so sustainable as Titan’s.

Robb offered the haughty woman a bland smile. “My name is Chief Inspector Robbard Stark, of Titsh Sector 4. And I’m afraid it’s quite out of the question for us to have found the killer already, ma’m.”

“Why would that be?” She immediately sniped, no doubt with another already insult dancing on her forked tongue.

“Because there was no intruder. It’s not possible for anyone without the access code to lift the elevator to this private set of suites. Our tech team is running through the logs now. If you all left and returned at the times you previously stated, we'll have proof of your movements.”

The woman looked ready to screech at him, that no one from Neptune was capable of such base actions as a bloody, blunt-force murder. It was rather the fashion to poison people on Neptune, Robb knew. But before the Princess could say another word, Payne stepped out behind Robb, to join him in collecting the witness statements.

“Finally,” hissed Princess Cersei, “someone who understands how things are done.”

Podrick Payne blushed, the small tattoo on his left cheek shining prominently. It was a sharp blue rendering of the letter N, the symbol for Neptunian citizens by birth. Directly below, down his neck in a thin line, lay the letters and symbols outlining Pod’s life and achievements. Capable of being read like a book by Neptunians, and utterly incomprehensible to everyone else.

Robb knew that Pod’s tattoos continued onto his chest, and he’d never stopped having new ones added, despite his Titsh citizenship and many years living on-planet. It was a huge taboo for Neptunians to do anything else. Robb cleared his throat, warningly. If the Princess thought Payne would be easily manipulated due to a sense of home planet fealty, she would be sorely disappointed.

“This is Senior Inspector Payne, he will be joining me during your interviews today. Miss Lorath, if we may begin with you?”

The young woman sat up sharply, turning to face them so that they could see the matching N tattoo on her face was inked in black, not blue. Robb winced internally, having learnt enough to know that meant she was a slave.

“You may not,” sneered Cersei Lannister, but before she could begin another tirade, the youngest, and smallest of their party sat up stiffly.

“For the gods’ sake Cersei, do shut up.” hissed Tyrion Lannister, her younger brother and a man clearly nursing a hangover. His eyes were red-rimmed and raw. “Father has been murdered. Murdered. This is a criminal investigation on other planet, not a snubbed invitation to a party. Get a grip on yourself, woman.”

Cersei huffed, throwing herself back into her chair like a petulant child. She had the last word, however, piercing Robb and Payne with her sour green eyes.

“Inspector Payne… any relation to Ilyn Payne, the King’s executioner?”

Robb resisted the urge to snap his attention to Payne, who ducked his head and scratched his neck nervously. He was notoriously tight-lipped about his family, and Robb wasn’t the kind to go snooping in his subordinate’s files, even if he did have access to them.

“He’s my great uncle, ma’m,” Payne admitted, and Robb sincerely hoped the surprise he felt didn’t show on his face.

Robb had always known Payne came from some sort of nobility. He just hadn’t realised how significant his family was, on Neptune. Bristling at the deception, whilst knowing how ridiculous it was to be offended, Robb wrestled back control of the situation.

“Miss Lorath, if you would?”

She came with no more interruptions, following where Robb’s open arm indicated a luscious office space that they’d turned into their temporary interview room.

“How long have you been in service to the Lannister family, Miss Lorath?” Robb began with a gentle, simple question once they were all seated, to put them all at ease.

Shae Lorath was a beautiful woman, with sun-kissed skin and waves of long dark hair, hanging loose and free, covering up the majority of her tattoos. Though not as hauty as the Princess, her dark eyes still seemed to swim with disdain. She turned from Robb to look directly at Payne, and muttered something in an unknown foreign language. Robb studied Neptunian in school like everyone else on Titan, yet he’d never heard this dialect of it. The accent and pacing were the same, but the only a few of the words were familiar.

Payne offered Shae Lorath a wry smile.

“In Common Tongue, Miss Lorath, please,” was all he said in reply.

“This man doesn’t know how to read Moirai.” she said, looking back at Robb’s unimpressed face.

“Very few non-Neps do,” Robb countered, with a cross of his arms, already annoyed. He hated dealing with these types of people. Arrogant planetos, obsessed with their rituals and traditions.

She glared back at him, probably for the use of the diminutive ‘Neps’, which was considered dismissive, though not a slur.

“If you could answer the question Miss Lorath, in the Common Tongue, it might save us some time.” Robb continued, unaffected by her annoyance.

Abruptly, Shae Lorath stood, using one hand to toss her glossy black hair over her shoulder, so it spilled like inky water down her back, and used the other to reach up to the ties of her halter-neck dress.

“Whoa-” Robb began, but it was already too late. The dress parted from around her neck. Though she clutched the fabric on her right side, holding it up to her breast so that she wasn’t bared completely, Shae’s bare left breast was exposed, the nipple hardening in the cool room.

The line of her tattoos- the Moirai, continued down her chest and breast, almost down to her flat stomach. Wordlessly, Payne stood up for a better look. After a few minutes of silent reading, he stepped back and offered her a nod of gratitude. Robb resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d rarely had occasion to see Pod interact with other Neptunians, but when he did, it was always this way. They had next to no personal boundaries when it came to the Moirai. Robb couldn’t ever imagine laying his secrets out bare for all and sundry to read, let alone understand why a woman would want to bare her breasts in the presence of strangers.

Once everyone was fully dressed again, Robb jerked his chin up to Shae, as though asking if she were done with her little displays. She tossed her head to one side slightly, as though challenging him for his discomfort.

“What can you tell me about your employment history with Tywin Lannister, that isn’t already on your skin?” Robb demanded, immensely irritated. He could be lying in bed at home - his real home, that he’d shared with Theon for so many years, where they’d lived and loved and conceived their boys - if one of these narcissists hadn’t bumped off the Ambassador.

“He was a punctual man. Serious, and he did not suffer foolishness. He knew I was the best woman for the job, and so he gave it to me, despite what other people might think,” she said belligerently.

“And why would anyone think you were unsuitable for the position of a… personal secretary, was it?”

Shae only offered him a cool look, while Payne cleared his throat.

“Miss Lorath is a former prostitute, at a brothel in King’s Landing. She taught herself calligraphy and typing, and bought her freedom. Tywin Lannister took her into his employment as a paid worker, not a slave.”

It never ceased to amaze Robb that so much information could be conveyed in a line of small symbols. Moirai was an entire language, though it couldn’t be spoken, and it took years to learn how to decipher the hieroglyphics, if you didn’t learn it as a child. The only Neptunian Robb could stand was Podrick Payne, so he didn’t think he’d be taking classes anytime soon.

He did resolve to ask Payne how he knew Shae Lorath had taught herself the skills needed to become a secretary. That was the sort of detail that boggled the mind. How could the same set of symbols arranged differently convey such a thing?

Painstakingly, Robb teased out the facts from Tywin Lannister’s secretary. She’d been working for him for five years. She’d never had any complaints or reprimands in that time. Her previous employer had been an office in Rhea. She’d met Tywin Lannister during his tenure there. Being the Ambassador of Neptune to the Federation meant he split his time between the occupied moons of Saturn. He wasn’t affixed to one rock, like most people.

“And last night? Please describe your movements,” Robb asked patiently, pleased they were finally getting somewhere.

“The family had dinner privately. That’s how they took it, when there was no party or fundraiser to go to. Bronn and I have a separate room for our meals, but I took it alone, because he was out.”

“Any idea where?” Robb wondered if Bronn Blackwater often left his charges to themselves when he wasn’t needed.

“Out. I do not care for what that brute does,” Shae sniffed, derisively.

“Please continue,” said Payne, with an encouraging smile.

“The cleaners came to take away the food, and then the Ambassador retired to his study to work. I went with him, and he dictated to me for three hours.”

“Without a break?”

Shae paused. “There was a break, when a girl brought in some tea.”

“What girl, a member of the hotel?”

“No,” Shae snorted, “Did you think this was it? One man for security and a woman to write letters? Ah, no, Inspector. These people, they travel with an army of servants and protectors and people to cater for their every whim.”

“I see,” said Robb, more interested in the tone she used to describe ‘these people’ than her actual words. Of course the Lannisters had more staff.

“What did Ambassador Lannister dictate to you last night, Miss Lorath?” asked Payne affably.

“Why should I tell you? It was private.” she growled.

Robb sat up a little taller. “This is a murder investigation, Miss Lorath. I assure you, we will find out eventually.”

For a long moment she held her tongue mulishly, before giving Robb another wild glare as she burst out; “Fine! It was his memoirs. We have been working on them for almost a year.”

“That’s a long time,” Robb commented.

“He’s lived a long life.” She countered waspishly.

“Indeed,” he agreed, “And now, if you please, what happened after that?”

“After about three hours, Mr Lannister said he was done. I collected my things and went back to my room, for some sleep before I had to get up for the conference call. I took a shower, then slept until my alarm woke me, at one. I got changed and took the call at just after half-past.”

“When you did you know something was amiss?

“When Tyrion came knocking on my door. He told me his father was dead, and Bronn wasn’t answering. He was drunk, I thought he must be mistaken. But when I went into the sitting room…”

She gulped, and her fingers trembled a little, finally displaying some genuine emotional reaction to the events of the night.

“Thank you, Miss Lorath,” said Robb, when it was clear she had nothing else to say. “You’ve been very helpful. Inspector Payne will take you back to the others, and someone else will take you to get your signed statement.”

“That’s it?” she said, watery eyes glancing between them incredulously.

“For now, we may need to question you again.”

Payne led her away, quiet and subdued now that her story was done. Robb reclined on the plush leather chair for a long moment, considering Shae’s statement.

Tywin Lannister was writing his memoirs. He must have known so many secrets, so many dark truths. Was that a possible motive for his death? If someone had felt threatened by what he may reveal... But if he’d been working on it for a year, then why now? Perhaps because there had been no other chance, until last night?

Bone-tired, Robb glanced at the pinwatch he kept fastened to his work jacket. Theon would be busy getting the kids up and ready for school. Robb felt a sudden overwhelming surge of loss, wishing he could be there too.

**Author's Note:**

> It was my great-grandma's funeral on Thurs 24th, that's why the latest updates have been slow. I've been dealing with my grief and it has not been easy. Writing has been more cathartic than I expected. Thanks to everyone who has commented! It's super encouraging to know you're out there reading xx


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